


Purging Thoughts (Tremulous and Tender)

by SilverBird13



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Javert takes care of business, M/M, Not discussed explicitly, Sickfic, TW: Vomit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-28
Updated: 2013-07-28
Packaged: 2017-12-21 16:44:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/902558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverBird13/pseuds/SilverBird13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And now Valjean was sick.</p><p>What the hell was he supposed to do?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Purging Thoughts (Tremulous and Tender)

**Author's Note:**

> It seems like this AU is another one that keeps on giving for me.

  
  
  
Javert had rolled his eyes the minute he got the text at 8:21 AM.  
  
 _“Sick.  No Bio.  Can’t move”_  
  
“Valjean,” he groaned, shaking his head in the half-full classroom (how was the professor not even here yet, with the class starting in 4 minutes?).    
  
The man was going to be the death of him, he thought as he typed his response:  
  
 _“Get up Jean.  You have class in half an hour.  It’s for your major.  I’ll see you at Musain at noon.”_  
  
 _“No can’t.  Throwing up”_ the next text read, sent barely a minute later.  
  
Fuck.  
  
*****  
  
Javert had never been good with illnesses.  
  
He’d been sick once in his young adult life, he remembered.  Bronchitis that had annoyed him more than it had pained him (because _of course_ he’d had it during his freshman-year winter finals).  He’d taken care of it by himself, going to the Health Center to get medication and taking it religiously (thanks to a phone alarm), and he had thankfully managed to avoid the various stomach bugs and viruses that sprung up like disgusting flowers seemingly every month on his floor.  
  
And now Valjean was sick.  
  
What the hell was he supposed to do?  
  
 _Valjean whimpering as he threw up into his wastebasket or, dear God, directly onto the floor._  
  
It was no real emergency, Javert chided himself, hands nervously running through his hair as Madame Yeloine finally arrived (3 minutes late and unprepared).  The man was as strong as a horse-there was certainly nothing _fun_ about vomiting, but Valjean could handle this and would know what to do, how to best care for himself until he was feeling better.  
  
 _Valjean crying out, unable to move to fill his water bottle or reach for painkillers._  
  
Javert ground his teeth.  This was _Valjean_.  Of course the man couldn’t take care of himself.    
  
The clock read 8:37.    
  
It was going to be a long two hours.  
  
****  
  
Javert thanked his own brilliance at planning for giving him three hours between Cosmology 226 and Topics in Astrophysics.  Technically, these were supposed to be his his “office hours” as the floor’s RA, but he was certain the idiots could handle their petty fights over desk lamps and sex schedules while he tended to Valjean.  He chuckled lowly to himself through his nerves as he climbed Toulon’s north staircase.  
  
 _Now he has me bending the rules.  Damn man._  
  
Once he reached the 4th floor, he went down the hallway, tracing a familiar pattern to Valjean’s room.  “Valjean,” he stated as he walked into the room without knocking, fully expecting (or at least wishfully thinking) that he’d see the man already up and about, making one of his ridiculous sandwiches as he watered his potted violet and blasted Eric Clapton.  
  
Javert shuddered at how wrong he was.  
  
The only part of Valjean that wasn’t covered by his black comforter was the very top of his head, letting his messy hair fan out onto his pillow as he made a few pathetic sounds.  He appeared to be curled into himself, clutching the blankets tightly as he faced the wall, his back to Javert, who quickly closed the door and strode over to deal with the mess that was assaulting his nostrils on the ground.  
  
Valjean had likely started vomiting in the middle of the night, Javert decided as he went to the cleaning closet a few doors down and collected some rubber gloves and a bucket, knowing the other man likely wouldn’t appreciate being told to wipe up his own damn mess.  A box of paper masks caught his eye as well, and he strapped one over his face before re-entering the room.  
  
Javert mopped up the vomit with as much efficiency as ever, trying to ignore the whimpers of protest or desperation Valjean was making until he had the room cleaned.  After he quickly checked to be sure nothing had gotten on the other man’s sheets or bedframe, he fairly ran to dispose of the waste in the trash closet down the way.  
  
“Jean?” he asked as softly as he could manage, trying not to startle Valjean as he came back and rested a hand on the man’s flank, “how do you feel?”  
  
“Javert?”  he mumbled from under the covers.  “‘M cold.  Please?”  
  
Javert smirked and gave the man a little pat, sitting down on the bed.  “I’ll get in with you if you drink something.”  
  
“‘M’kay,” he murmured drowsily, shifting as Javert moved to grab a (thankfully full) water bottle from the bedside table next to him, where it sat beside a bottle of painkillers.  Perhaps Vicrois wasn’t so terrible, after all (though he still needed a few lessons in knocking).  
  
Javert couldn’t help but smirk a little as he pulled the covers down to reveal a shirtless Valjean, still sweating from the fever and moaning lightly.  
  
“Hmm, were you thinking of me before bed?” he asked teasingly, gently reaching behind Valjean to lift him into a sitting position and handing him the water bottle.  
  
“Mmm,”  Valjean muttered around the nozzle, raising his eyebrows.  He finished quickly, shakily setting the water bottle on the floor and lying back down as Javert toed off his shoes and shrugged off his jacket.  
  
 “Much better,” he said, moving to get into the bed and curling around Valjean, pulling the covers up as he stroked the man’s bare belly in what he hoped was a soothing manner.    
  
The two men lay in silence for a few minutes, Valjean breathing evenly as Javert let himself rest his lips against the back of his neck, still gently moving his hand against Valjean’s soft skin.  
  
“Thank you,”  Valjean murmured softly to the wall, shifting to press even closer to Javert, who groaned at the feel of Valjean’s ass, clad only in briefs, as it rubbed against his jeans.  
  
“Tell me, would I be a good nursing student too, then?” Javert whispered, clutching Valjean tighter to him, keeping the movement of his hand chaste only through great effort.  
  
Valjean made a muffled sound resembling a giggle at that, reaching to grasp Javert’s hand and holding it still atop his belly, covering it with his own.   
  
“It feels good.”  
  
Javert snorted at that but kept his hand against Valjean. “Dear God, don’t tell me you’re pregnant, now.”  
  
Valjean let out a discernible laugh at that, snuggling deeper into the embrace as Javert let his forehead rest against Valjean’s hair.   
  
Madame Yeloine would probably just be late again for Geology of Asteroids, anyways.


End file.
